


Misinterpretations

by shatteredhourglass



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Clint Barton, Omega Verse, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Torture, Sappy Ending, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Steve Is a Good Bro, sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 09:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15861075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: Clint is the only omega on the Avengers, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it'd be more fun if people didn't treat him differently because of it. Especially Bucky Barnes, who he may or may not have a crush on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if anyone's noticed the pattern, but I'm currently making my way through a lot of common fanfic tropes. If anyone has a suggestion, or just wants to discuss a plot or smth- hit me up at my tumblr @ shatteredhourglass!

A/N: I don't know if anyone's noticed the pattern, but I'm currently making my way through a lot of cliche fanfic tropes. If anyone has a suggestion, or just wants to discuss a plot or smth- hit me up at my tumblr @ shatteredhourglass!

 

 

The team filed out of the medical room, chatting amongst themselves. No one had been particularly badly injured during this run, thankfully- Natasha was sporting an ugly yellowing bruise on her throat where she'd been grabbed by a Hydra goon, and Steve had been stabbed in the leg at one point (not that it mattered, he'd just shaken it off, the idiot, but at least he healed fast.) Tony and Clint were waiting for them in the hallway, and Tony rushed ahead to inspect Steve, run a worried hand over his thigh where the cut had been. Clint sighed. Even after everything, even after Steve _smashing_ his shield into Tony, he was still worrying. The others filed past him, Wanda patting his elbow as she went, until there was only Clint and Bucky, who'd been behind the others.

He squinted at the prominent dent in Bucky's left arm, remembered the blow that had caused it. Bucky had stopped, was looking at him with clear, curious eyes. He hadn't looked that lucid when he was jumping in front of Clint to take a hit.

"Let's talk somewhere else. This floor gives me the heebie-jeebies," Clint said.

"Okay," Bucky agreed, still looking puzzled.

Clint set off for his own floor, Barnes following along behind him silently. Awh, man, this was kind of depressing. He didn't want to have this conversation, but he didn't really want to face Steve when Bucky actually got seriously hurt, and just because of some stupid outdated morals that said Clint was too useless to fight his own battles. Finally they got the kitchen and Clint turned around and eyed Bucky. The latter blinked back at him, looking more or less like he had no idea what this was about. Clint sucked in a breath, let it out in a heavy sigh a second later.

"Are we going to have a problem, Barnes?"

Bucky scrunched up his nose. "What?"

He crossed his arms. "I'm capable of protecting myself. Just because I'm an omega doesn't automatically make me useless, or inferior, or whatever people said we were in nineteen-fucking-forty."

"Why would it- because you're an omega? What?"

"You didn't jump in front of Natasha. And the other month, when Sam got shot. You didn't protect him either."

Bucky's eyes went wide at this, the pale blue-grey catching the light, and he looked like a kicked puppy. Oops. Clint felt like a monster immediately, even if he was supposedly defending his own non-existent  honour. He breathed in and, yep, distressed alpha scent. Bucky smelled like that a lot. It eased up a bit when Steve was nearby, but otherwise it was almost like that distress was just there all the time.

"I didn't- aw, shit, Clint, it's not like that. I was trying to help. It wasn't- I didn't mean it like..."

Clint waited, although he really wanted to just escape and sulk. But if he did that, Steve would start giving him the patented eyebrows of disappointment, and he'd cave and confront Bucky anyway. It wasn't like he disliked Barnes at all- he was cool, when he wasn't going on brainwashed murder sprees or giving everyone that sad hobo stare he had. Clint could appreciate a good sniper any day of the week, but he couldn't appreciate being treated like he was an idiot because of his designation. Barney had- Barney had done that, and so had his dad, and he didn't put up with that shit anymore. And even if he didn't shoot whoever had said anything, Natasha was usually there to put a warning shot through someone's knee. She hadn't said anything this time, just raised an eyebrow when she saw Clint waiting in the hallway, and Clint had shaken his head. He could deal with this by himself. He could deal with Barnes by himself. Bucky sighed, pushed a few strands of hair off of his face.

"I know omegas are more common nowadays, but they were precious back then. Important. Alphas are dime-a-dozen, especially guys. I- my memory still isn't great, but I don't remember ever even _talking_ to an omega before now. But my ma always said we were supposed to protect them, watch over them."

The conversation he'd had with Steve on this subject hadn't been _half_ this awkward. Steve had sat down next to him on the couch one day and gone "Omega, huh?" and Clint had been ready to come back with a sharp retort, but those blue eyes has been soft and proud as he looked out a window and talked about Peggy, about the omega the alphas had bowed down to during the war. And that had been that. Bucky seemed- he wasn't discriminating against Clint, not really, but it was still a problem on the field.

"Do I look like I need protecting?"

"I- you _do_ hurt yourself a lot."

Clint snorted, scratched at the bandage on his elbow he'd gotten from tripping and hitting it on the edge of the counter. "I'm a superhero, Barnes. I don't need you taking hits for me."

"I didn't even think about it," Bucky grumbled. "It was a reflex."

"Yeah, whatever you say. Just don't do it."

"I'm more resilient than you, shouldn't I be protecting you, omega or not? You're kind of fragile."

Clint huffed, but there wasn't really an answer for that one. Yeah, he was fragile compared to Steve and Bucky and Bruce and Thor and even fucking _Tony,_ with his armour. Some days he felt like glass, only a second away from being shattered by a breeze too strong. He couldn't beat a super-soldier on that scale, especially because the blow Bucky's arm had taken probably would've crushed his ribs, maybe would've killed him then and there, even. Bucky was right. But he still wasn't some delicate princess needing a prince to rescue him from a tower.

And that was that.

 

The next day when he got up, there was a takeaway cup steaming on the kitchen bench. No one around it, though. He sniffed it, took a sip, and _ooh_. Fuck, that was good stuff. He knew immediately that it was the expensive coffee from that place up the road that kept the weird hours Clint could never keep up with. What was it doing here? Clint looked down and saw the crumpled note next to where it had been, which was covered in scribbly, curled writing.

_Sorry again. I'll let you suffer a painful demise next time. -BB._

"Interesting," Natasha said from her spot on the couch. Clint didn't flinch, had trained himself out of it years ago, just glanced and the report she was writing and deemed it unimportant enough to ignore for now. He padded over to her and snuggled into her side, coffee in his hands. The bruise was fading away already from where it was visible above the collar of her shirt. He watched her neat penwork for a while, savouring the drink keeping his hands warm and enjoying the comfort of her beside him. When it was all gone, he set the cup on the coffee table and eyed Natasha off quietly. That faint smirk on her face suggested things he didn't like. _Interesting,_ she'd said. Like there was something more to it than a simple apology and understanding between himself and Bucky.

"What's interesting?"

She glanced at him. "He accidentally punched Thor the other day for coming up behind him without warning. Gave him a black eye, didn't even say sorry."

Bruising Thor would've taken quite the hard punch. Then again, he did have a metal arm. "And?"

"You scold him for saving your life and he's buying you expensive coffee and writing you notes."

"Maybe I just have a talent for winning the affection of murderous Russians," he answered, giving her a wink. Natasha hmm'ed in agreement, but her expression said she thought it was something else. Clint didn't know what it was supposed to mean.

 

Clint aims, draws back the bow, and fires. It's not one of his favourites- a large bamboo Yumi bow that had been a gift from a fan in Hokkaido- but it was fun to use during downtime. It was taller than Clint, and even though it was light it just wasn't a practical weapon to be using.on the field. Still, in honour of that fan, he used it on the range. He lost himself in the quiet aim, draw, fire rhythm for a while, just hitting the bullseye again and again. It was quiet here, just the background music Clint had FRIDAY playing and the thunk of the arrows hitting the targets. It was nice. There wasn't a lot of time to just shoot anymore, for the hell of it rather than to kill someone, and it was good.

"Only you could look that good while using something _that_ ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? Like your hobo haircut, Barnes?"

Hang on, had that been a compliment? Looking _good_ while shooting? He turned and saw black out the corner of his eye- Bucky, standing a few meters away, leaning up against a wall. He wasn't wearing all black, which was a surprise- his jeans were grey. It had taken him a while to shed the body armour when he'd come back, but once he'd been introduced to skinny jeans the vests had gone too, replaced with soft hoodies. He looked less like a deadly assassin and more like a sad hipster with the new wardrobe, which was just fine with Clint. Clint lowered the bow and then he noticed the dark circles under Bucky's eyes, more prominent than usual, and the acrid smell of stress. He was probably just trying to distract himself with complimenting Clint, which- well, Clint could distract him just fine.

"Want to try?" He offered the bow, and Bucky eyed it like it was a live bomb.

"Wouldn't even know where to start. HYDRA didn't train me in archaic weaponry."

"Archaic? You offend me. C'mon. Give it a go."

Bucky stepped closer, and Clint handed off the bow but stayed close, offering up an arrow. Bucky took it delicately, notched it and drew back and... nope, that wasn't going to work. The arrow bounced off a tree, falling into the grass below. Thank goodness it hadn't been one that could generate a spark and set fire to everything. Clint muffled an amused snort and Bucky turned an aggrieved sigh on him. He really was like a sad hipster.

"Look, you've got the power, but your stance is all wrong," he explained. "You can't just imitate what I do, because my way isn't going to work for you. You mind?"

It was a big deal to an assassin, Clint knew, letting someone close and behind you like this, so he wasn't expecting Bucky to shake his head and relax minutely as Clint settled with his hip brushing Bucky's side. Wow. Okay, he could work with this. The trust wouldn't be betrayed with him. He settled his feet inside Bucky's, used his knees to push his legs further apart. Bucky sucked in a startled breath when Clint adjusted his arms slightly, angled them differently, and he could only tell because there wasn't a lick of space between them. And. Yeah, this was probably weird. Was it weird? He didn't know- it wasn't like the comfort of being close to Natasha, and it wasn't like the pleasant buzz when Wanda initiated contact either. Bucky smelled kind of like cinnamon and fresh apples (what conditioner did he use?) and he was just standing there quietly...

While Clint smelled him like a weirdo. Right.

"Okay, now try," he said, keeping the panicked shake out of his voice.

Bucky released the new arrow, and they watched as it sailed with a thwack into the outer ring of one of the targets.

"Not bad," Clint said.

"Yeah?" And even though he couldn't see Bucky's smile from this angle, he could hear it in his voice. It felt... warm. Nice. Like it was okay for Clint to be a weirdo.

"Yeah," he repeated, softer.

 

"Robin Hood! How's my favourite strawberry-scented omega going?"

"I do _not_ smell like strawberries," Clint argued, grimacing at Tony. "I don't even like strawberries."

"He smells like coffee to me," Wanda adds from where she's tucked against the corner of the sofa, changing the channel from the news to a show with a cartoon rabbit. Yes. Good Wanda. Best girl. He shoots her a grin, which she returns with a slightly more subdued smile. While betas couldn't smell the designation on him, Wanda had a particularly good nose- to the point where he was almost certain she could smell emotions the way omegas could.

"Well, that's not a surprise, considering he practically bathes in the stuff," Tony answered dryly. "He smells like that too. Maybe he smells different for alphas. Hey, Barnes, get over here."

Bucky, who had just entered the room, twitched nervously, eyes darting around the room. His hair was still sticking up in places, so he'd probably just gotten up. Clint hadn't even realised he did sleep, let alone at... eight o'clock in the morning, when half the team was up and about. Sam and Steve were still out on their run around the park. Clint felt a pang of sympathy for Bucky- it was way too early to deal with Tony's manic energy, especially if you weren't used to it. Too early for everyone but Tony, who had probably been in the lab all night, judging from the dark shadows smudged under his eyes. Still, he raised an eyebrow at the other alpha challengingly.

"What?"

"Come smell Clint."

"Come sm- _what_?"

"I want to know if he smells like strawberries to you too."

"He doesn't smell like strawberries," Bucky said immediately, with a frown. Hmm.

"Not you too, Barnes," Tony groaned, flopping back in his chair. "What does he smell like, then?"

Blue-grey eyes flicked over to Clint, who shrugged. It wasn't as if he could smell _himself_ to save Bucky from Tony's reign of terror. There was a pause, and then the assassin turned and fled the room. Before he'd gone though, Clint had caught a flush on his cheeks- was he _blushing_? And why was he blushing in the first place? Maybe he still had his self-respect and dignity to lose, unlike the rest of them. Although it was unlikely.

"Looks like you're too stinky for him, Barton," Tony commented.

Clint threw his shoe at him.

It him him right between the eyes.

 

"Hey, Clint."

Clint lifted his head out of the couch cushion long enough to say, "Oh, hi, Steve," before he flopped back down. Doombots weren't exactly a _challenge_ anymore, but they were endless and exhausting and he'd had enough of Doctor Doom, okay? Bucky and Steve and Sam had been out checking out another HYDRA base Bucky had remembered, and Tony had been with Pepper doing business, so it had just been him and Natasha and Vision and Wanda against all those Doombots, and it was awful. At least the police had done the cleanup for them. There was a moment of silence and then Steve's weight was dipping the couch down where Clint's knees were, and oh. It was one of _those_ moments.

Clint lifted himself up wearily so Steve could sit properly, and then sat against him, knees brushing Steve's hip. Steve's eyes were dark, staring out the window sightlessly, and Clint watched him quietly gather himself together before he let out a sigh. Seeing what they'd done to Bucky in those places didn't rest easy on Steve, especially because he tended to take all the blame for what had happened on himself if there were no HYDRA assholes to beat to a pulp. Clint was glad for his biology in that moment, because even if he didn't have anything reassuring to say, at least the smell of calm, safe omega triggered an instinctual settling in Steve. Steve had sought him out like this before, and it had taken a lot of questioning from Clint before he'd actually admitted that sometimes his rampant alpha brain just found it nice to be around him. It was like being everyone's therapist without the talking and the brain picking.

"Sam's new wings work?"

A barely-there smile appeared on Steve's face. "Bucky shot at him when he took off. Didn't hit him, of course, he was just messing around, but there's a few new holes in his jacket."

"The one he bought from that designer place in DC? Ooh, yikes."

"Yeah. Buck's always had a twisted sense of humour, though."

"He okay?"

"As much as he can be, I guess," Steve says, and there's something sad in his tone. "I- he's not the same. But I can't expect him to be, can I?"

"He's been the Winter Soldier for seventy years, man, he's never going to be that guy you remember exactly," Clint answers, which was kind of blunt, but oh well. "But he's here, and he's joking, and he's bringing me coffee, and shooting at Sam for fun, and that's pretty awesome."

Steve hums in agreement, and then pauses. "You have a coffee maker on your floor."

"Yeah," he replies. "He brings me the fancy stuff from down the road. Doesn't stay, though. Leaves it on the counter."

"So that's where he goes in the mornings," comes the thoughtful answer.

"He doesn't bring you coffee?"

Steve laughs at that. "He won't even share the coffeepot when he makes it. He likes you, Clint."

"Oh," Clint says, heat rushing to his face, and he hides it by turning his face away from Steve to stare at the wall. Bucky likes him. Which, yeah, he knew the guy didn't hate him, but he thought the coffee was just an apology thing.

"You're good for him, Clint. I think you understand him more than me, some days," Steve murmurs, and Clint feels bad for Steve amongst the weird flutter his heart does at that.

 

"Can't sleep?"

Bucky turned sharply, nearly invisible in the darkness. It was about two am, Clint guessed, probably not the time one would expect company in the common floor. But Clint didn't really like being alone on his floor after the nightmares, he needed too see evidence of other people. Of their scents intermingling, rather than just that sour electric smell that had filled his nose when he'd been Loki's lackey. He himself wasn't really surprised at the company- after Loki, he'd gotten up in the middle of the night more often than not, and he'd usually find Bruce or Tony or someone awake. They'd all seen some shit, after all. He kind of missed Bruce making him tea at weird hours of the morning and doing a crossword at the bench. He missed Hulk, too, if he was honest. Hulk was great, even if he was a little on the destructive side. Clint held up a hand as Bucky's lips moved, grimacing at him.

"Got my aids out. Can't hear you, Barnes. Turn on a lamp or something so I can read your lips."

Metal fingers flicked on a lamp by the couch without pause, bathing Bucky in the warm orange glow. Jeez, he looked homeless- not that he didn't look like that about ninety percent of the time, but still. The shadows under his eyes were worse than Tony's- super soldiers didn't need sleep Clint's _ass_ \- but he'd settled in a corner of the tasteful black sofa, the hoodie he was wearing blending in with it. Clint wished he'd brought a shirt now, because he was standing here in pajama pants and nothing else, and it wasn't like he'd never been shirtless in front of Bucky but he had never been shirtless where there was time for Bucky to actually _look_ like he was now, eyes dark and almost curious. Clint refrained from cringing away.

"You want hot chocolate?"

Bucky's eyes snapped back to his face so fast it was ridiculous. Then he quirked a brow. " _No coffee_?"

He sighed. "FRIDAY- the computer- she tells on me if I have coffee before five. We're supposed to be making 'healthy choices,' apparently. JARVIS would never have betrayed me like that."

He couldn't hear it, but he was pretty sure Bucky snorted. " _Yeah, sure, I'll have hot chocolate_."

Clint padded over the kitchen to set the kettle on the stove. It was old-fashioned, sure, but Steve had bought them a kettle when he'd moved in. At first they'd all ignored it, but it turned out kettle-made drinks were weirdly satisfying to make, even though there was nothing especially different about it. He set out the sachets on hot chocolate powder and then turned, bumping into Bucky, who took a step back. Right. He probably wasn't used to Clint not being able to hear him, although the man was sneaky as all fuck even with Clint's aids in. Like a cat or something.

"- _Nightmares_?" Bucky was talking.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, they're shitty, huh?"

He got a frown at that, but he was turning back to check the kettle, trying to stave off the images of Loki and the bright, bright blue of the sceptre still flickering at the back of his mind. It never really got any better, and he'd come to terms with that. Kind of pathetic, though, considering the guy radiating warmth and alpha comfort had been brainwashed for about seventy years and still managed to be more stable than him. Clint breathed in through his nose, tried not to be too obvious about it. Aw, jeez, Bucky could probably smell the stress on him. Steve could do it, with that inhanced sniffer of his, but he was usually too polite to comment on it. Lucky for the Avengers, the only people that could smell emotions were too tactful to say anything about the messes they all were. Clint imagined what it'd be like if Tony was an omega, and grimaced. A hand landed on Clint's shoulder and he tilted his face back to see Bucky's face.

_"-wanna sit down, I'll get the drinks?"_

"Yeah, sure, man, if you want. You know how to work the kettle?"

He got a very unimpressed look for that question, so he offered a smile that probably looked too brittle around the edges, and made his way back to the couch, settling down in the corner Bucky hadn't been inhabiting. Yeah, Bucky could definitely smell the stress coming off of him. Nightmares did that. Especially the vivid ones, the ones where he saw Natasha's wide eyes before he slit her throat, the way Tony would fall to the ground with blood dripping everywhere- _Come on, Barton. It's been long enough. Loki's gone._ He huffed out a sigh. It didn't feel like he was going to fall to pieces after each nightmare anymore, but it still left him feeling floaty and adrift, like reality was going to slip away if he stayed in bed or closed his eyes. 

Bucky set the mug of steaming hot chocolate on the coffee table and he grabbed for it, blowing on it and watching the steam curl towards the ceiling. Mm. He'd added milk. Good. Bucky sat down beside him and stared off into the distance for a minute, eyes glazing over for a second, before turning to Clint. He was tired, then. Clint knew the feeling. The tiredness was grabbing at his bones even though he couldn't go back to sleep like this.

" _Guess you don't want to talk about it?"_

"Not really, man," Clint replied, and Bucky's expression went sympathetic for a moment. Yeah, he understood.

" _How do you have more scars than me, Barton, what the fuck?"_

He shrugged at Bucky's dubious stare, which had travelled down to his bare chest again. Tried not to be too self-conscious about it. Yeah, there were a lot of scars, but that was part of the job, right? Bucky had a lot of scars too. "All a part of my rugged charm and beauty, Barnes. Like what you see?"

" _What happened?"_

Fingers, human fingers, not the metal ones, touched the rise of Clint's collarbone with a tentativity he didn't expect from Bucky. He thought about the rise of the scar there, thought back with a hum. Bucky's fingers were warm, gentle, and it was nice.

"Think that one was Natasha. From before I brought her in."

It had been a good hit, too, but Clint had just been that second too fast for her, and she hadn't had the chance to sink the blade into him properly. It had been a lucky day. Very lucky for Clint, he supposed, because he'd survived _and_ he had gotten Natasha on top of that. He really did love Natasha. Bucky's fingers slipped up his collarbone, over his scent glands on that side, and Clint's breath caught. Of course, that was probably the only place he _didn't_ have some sort of scar. Especially because he guarded it like it was a live wire. And yet- Bucky touching it, touching him like this, Clint was okay with it. What was that frown all about, though?

" _You and Natalia aren't-?_

Clint snorted. "Natasha and I aren't- we're just worryingly co-dependent. No mating involved."

Bucky's lips curved up into a barely-there smile. " _I can't judge, can I?"_

He supposed not, with the way Steve and Bucky were. Clint wondered if Natasha would chase him down the way Steve had done, if he was brainwashed again. He hoped not. He wouldn't ever want to hurt her the way Bucky had hurt Steve, brainwashed or not. Bucky's hand slipped away from his scent glands, tapped his fingertips against the base of Clint's throat.

" _And here?"_

Right. The scars. Clint took a sip of his hot chocolate and thought about it, remembered the Swordsman's blade cutting into his neck, the warning he'd been given and ignored. Remembered Barney looking at him as he laid in that ditch, the angry way he'd been told " _Shoulda just done what the alphas wanted, Clint, ain't your place to tell them what to do. You're just an omega, a useless one at that-"_ and no, he wasn't going down that road tonight. It just caused more problems. And yet. He met Bucky's worried stare head-on and offered him another shrug.

"Tried to do the right thing."

Bucky's fingers trailed down to his ribs, thumbing a jagged scar there. " _All of these from you being too heroic for your own damn good?"_

"Something like that. Nah, that one was from my brother. Nicked me damn good."

" _Your brother?"_

"Yeah. Barney. Real typical alpha jackass. Didn't like that I wasn't a proper omega." And yep, oops, there it was. He was supposed to be the well-adjusted one.

Bucky's nose scrunched up in distaste. " _What's a proper omega?"_

Clint laughed into his hot chocolate, knowing it probably sounded hollow even without hearing it himself. "Girls. Submissives. People who'd let him shit all over them. People who can actually have heats and- and have kids."

He barely managed to get the words past his teeth, but he had to say them- had to tell Bucky, had to make him understand why Clint didn't have a mate, couldn't ever let someone down like that. Bucky's eyes went wide at the words, shocked and maybe a little angry. Still, Clint had to commend his self-restraint, because he didn't even try to argue that. Didn't even ask why Clint was so broken he couldn't even do normal things. It wasn't like Clint didn't know it was all bullshit- he _was_ a real omega, after all, it was pretty obvious with the way he smelled, and he'd carry the designation to his damn grave. Clint Barton, Avenger, ass-kicker, Hawkeye, omega.

_"Did you want kids?"_

 "I mean- I dunno, that's a hard question, Barnes. Kids?" He looked away from Bucky's face, and the emotion in it. "I never really- the doctors said it was because my dad beat on my mom while she was carrying me, so I never really had the choice. Alcoholic bastard. I'm glad he died in that fucking accident."

He only realised his hands were trembling uncontrollably when a metal one gently took the drink from him and set it back on the coffee table. He got in one sharp, unsteady breath before he was wrapped up in a hug, Bucky's hair tickling Clint's nose where it had landed in the crook of his neck. Clint took another shaky inhale and got a noseful of warm, comforting alpha and _jeez,_ he really was a goddamn fucking mess, wasn't he? Dropping all his shit on Barnes because of a few nightmares and a harmless question he was too fucked up to answer like a normal person. He didn't deserve this. Bucky's right hand was settled on Clint's bare hip, tracing little circles into the skin there in a gesture that was way more comforting than it was supposed to be. There was a vibration under his lips where they were against Bucky's shoulder, which meant he was probably talking, but it couldn't have been important because Clint was definitely unable to see his lips in this position, so he didn't worry about it, closed his eyes against the sting of tears.

Goddamnit. _Kids_. He should've just been born a damn beta and been done with it, but that would've been too easy. Instead he had to sit here and live with the idea that he _could've_ had children, but his dad had taken that away from him before he'd even been born. And fucking hell, he kind of _did_ want kids. They'd have been weird little bastards, but they would've been the best kids. Jesus Christ. He took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds. He expected Bucky to pull away, to flee from the mess that Clint was and always would be, but he stayed. Bucky's fingers kept smoothing over his skin, gentle and safe, and the vibrations of his voice kept buzzing under Clint's lips until he drifted off into sleep.

He dreamed of children that night, running around the farmhouse he hadn't been back to since the Avengers crashed there, kids with delighted blue-grey eyes and blonde hair that stuck up at odd angles. One ran past him at breakneck speed and he turned, watched her disappear into the kitchen, and he could smell pancakes. The other stopped at Clint's feet, made grabby hands until Clint lifted him up onto his shoulders. " _Lila's going to eat all the breakfast, hurry up,"_ the child said into his ear, and Clint laughed.

He woke up with wetness around his eyes and the covers of his bed pulled up to his shoulders. There was still a lingering scent of warmth and apples and _Bucky,_ and oh man, he had it bad.

There was a cup of coffee waiting for him when he got up.

 

"What's this one?"

"New Politics. They're from Harlem, I think- or is that one of their songs? FRIDAY?"

"The band New Politics is from Copenhagen, Denmark, according to Wikipedia, Clint," FRIDAY chirps at him. He'd never gotten JARVIS to call him Clint, but FRIDAY had adapted to the request quite happily, and before long she was calling everyone but Tony by their first names. Except Steve.

"Denmark? That's nowhere near Harlem," Bucky adds amusedly.

Clint purses his lips, trying to think as Bucky inspects the iPod dock curiously before settling back on the couch, leaning back. This was easy. Easier than talking about what a mistake it was, being close to Clint when he was such a mess, and easier than ignoring that contemplative look Steve had given him this morning. Showing him music was much easier than talking, and unlike Steve, Bucky actually sat and _listened,_ looked like he was really feeling the music rather than just nodding along politely. He was pretty, like this. Just sitting there, lost in the beat and flow of whatever tunes Clint decided to play for him. He was so glad Sam was completely gone for Steve or he might've had to fight him over the privilege of showing Bucky all the music that had come along in the past seventy years. And Sam definitely would've missed all the weird pop stuff in favour of the classics, but Clint, Clint thought both was good.

"How about this one?"

"Let me check, uh... Jukebox The Ghost."

"From DC, according to Wikipedia," FRIDAY adds in unnecessarily, but she's trying to help and it's cute, so Clint doesn't worry about it. Bucky seemed amused by her antics as well.

There was a moment while they contemplated the song, and Clint wondered if playing something like this was hinting at what he felt. Hopefully not. He didn't think he'd be able to deny it if Bucky actually said something- he was a notoriously shitty liar. Then again, if Steve was oblivious to the advances other members of the team had made on him, maybe Bucky would be just as oblivious. The man had spent a lot of time in a cryo-chamber. But maybe that was just wishful thinking on Clint's part, because Bucky was looking at him intently, like he wanted to get inside Clint's head and poke around in there. Which was a really terrible idea, really.

"Love songs got a lot more fancy since the thirties," Bucky says, barely audible over the bass, and Clint grinned at him, because yeah. They really had.

 

"You should ask him out to coffee."

"He brings me coffee every morning, Nat," Clint answers dryly. "And he doesn't even stay to say 'good morning.'"

She gives him a look that conveys exactly how unimpressed she is with him in this particular moment, a look that would shake any man in his boots but Clint. As it is, he just steals half of the muffin she's holding and stuffs it in his mouth, chewing slowly. Ew, poppy seeds. Of course she knows about his giant heart-boner for Barnes, but that didn't mean he had to do anything about it. Bucky was still recovering from seventy years of brainwashing, for Christ's sake, he didn't need to deal with Clint's shit on top of that. And Clint definitely wasn't relationship material. Natasha should know that by now. He sighs at her through his mouthful of food and she kicks his ankle.

"Talk to him," she says, firm.

"I'm not- _Natasha_ ," he pleads.

"So you don't like him?"

Clint smacks his forehead down on the table. "Of course I do," he mumbles, because it's easier to be honest when he doesn't have to look at her. "Who wouldn't? He's funny, and weird, and he shoots like a fucking god, _and_ he looks like sex on legs."

There's a silence that is definitely amused. Clint sighs. "Why do his thighs have to look that good, Natasha? And don't get me started on those fucking skinny jeans."

She huffs, hooks his ankle with her foot so they're touching, even if it isn't a hug. Natasha doesn't do proper hugs unless something more awful than usual happens. But she doesn't press about him asking Bucky out on a date (a fucking _date,_ like they're normal people and not a broken omega circus-boy-turned-assassin-turned-Avenger and a cyborg amnesiac who spent the better part of seventy years in a freezer). A date, fucking hell. What would they even do? Go see a movie, get icecream? Go to the _zoo?_ Laser tag? No, Bucky would be too good at laser tag, and they'd never get anyone else to play with them because all the Avengers knew that Clint would find a spot up in the rafters and they'd never be able to find him, let alone shoot him and win. He'd done it before. Natasha sighs at him, conveying her opinion on the subject without actually saying anything.

And Clint doesn't bring it up again, so they don't have to talk about how Clint's ill-advised crush might not just be an ill-advised crush and he might actually be _in love_ with James Buchanan Barnes.

She probably knows, anyway.

 

_"So, you got yourself a boy, Clint Barton. I thought we agreed that you belong to me," Loki says, the green of his eyes bright and venomous in the darkness, and he's got Bucky in a chair, in one of those fucking chairs he's seen in the HYDRA bases.  Bucky's beaten and bruised, blood leaking out of his mouth and there's a familiar arrow shaft sticking out of his leg, oh god. Loki's gloved hand brushes Bucky's matted hair and Clint wants to snarl, wants to snap Loki's neck like a twig because no one gets to touch him like that, hurt him like that ever again._

_"Kill him," comes the order._

_And Clint's hands come up, grabbing an arrow from his back, and he's screaming. No, no, not Bucky, not this, not again, he can't. But Loki's sly grin grows, and the arrow's notched, and he's drawing back-_

-and there's arms around him, in the darkness, and he's still sobbing, "no, no, no," and then he sucks in a breath and Bucky's there. Alive. In Clint's bed, holding him close like he's going to shatter to pieces if he lets go. Clint just lets out a wet gasp for air, grabs at his back. He's breathing like he's been drowning, coughing as well, and Bucky just holds him close and rubs at his back gently. After a while, the sobbing subsides, and Clint's left drained, so he just leans against Bucky, taking in the smell of warmth and Alpha and _home_. Bucky runs a hand up his back again and leans back so he can stare intently into Clint's face. Whatever he's looking for, Clint doesn't know, unless he likes looking at people who feel like their face has been run over. But that's probably not the case, because he's pulling tissues out of nowhere and passing them over.

Clint blows his nose and thinks about how unattractive he must be right now. Half-asleep, crying all over Bucky, and in a pair of ratty boxers with what is probably the ugliest frog in existence printed on the front. (Scott's kid had made them as a joke for him, but they were really, really comfortable, so he'd squirreled them away when everyone had been distracted with Tony's presents that Christmas morning.) Wait. He was in bed. _His_ bed.

"Why're you in my room?"

Bucky startled at that, and then his face went suspiciously red. He turned his face away and mumbled something, but Clint couldn't lipread him like that. He tossed the tissues in the bin near his bed and reached for his aids, hooking them in as Bucky shifted uncomfortably, still a few inches away from him on the bed.

"Okay, now you can mumble," Clint said, sinking back against the pillows.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, that's just... business as usual," he admitted. "It's not normally that bad, but... I've had a lot on my mind." Like the fact Thor had gone back to Asgard with rumours of Loki escaping. Like Loki coming here and using him again, even though Thor had assured him Loki wouldn't be doing it again. Bucky made a sympathetic noise in his throat. Yeah. He'd know all about that, wouldn't he?

"C'mere, I want to pull the covers up," Clint said, because as much as he appreciated Bucky being here, he was feeling a little naked. Bucky glanced down at his shorts and snickered.

"A frog?"

"Frogs are very fashionable, I'll have you know, Barnes," he argued as Bucky shuffled his way up to the pillows. He was in full gear, boots and hoodie and everything. The only thing missing was a balaclava or something. Clint pulled the duvet up to cover his stomach and leaned back against the headboard. FRIDAY automatically turned the lights on when she sensed someone awake in a room, but they were dimmed enough that it didn't hurt Clint's head. Bucky could probably see in the dark or some shit anyway. They sat there quietly for a minute, Clint still reeling from the nightmare and Bucky staring at a wall distantly.

"There weren't any omegas in HYDRA," he said.

"Well, I'm fairly sure HYDRA isn't known for their equality in the workplace programs," Clint answered, knocking his bare shoulder against Bucky's wool-clad one.

"No, I mean," he frowned and flapped the metal hand as it whirred, "I haven't seen an omega in seventy years, and yet... I remember them, vaguely. There was one down the road, Amelie Berkley, she had black hair that was always frizzing out all over the place. She smelled like strawberries."

"Okay?"

"I'm not making any sense," Bucky said, and it was nice he was aware of it. "What I meant- remember when Tony asked me about whether you smelled like strawberries?"

"And you ran away? Yeah."

"That's it. Other omegas, they _do_ kinda smell like strawberries," he added. "You smell like _home_."

Clint's breath caught in his chest. "Does that mean I smell like a nineteen-thirties townhouse, a trench in the war, or like- Steve? I don't hang around him _that_ often, do I?"

Bucky snorted. "You don't smell like Steve. That'd be weird."

"So..."

"I don't know," Bucky muttered, dropping his face down on his knees, and Clint was glad he'd put his aids in because the man did _not_ like speaking clearly and face-to-face. "I know you hate that possessive alpha shit, I do, and you don't need to deal with my crap, but Steve always said Peg smelled like home to him, and they were soulmates, so I thought- I- _fuck_."

"I... Barnes?"

"I'm fucking this up already," came the reply, barely audible over the rushing in Clint's ears. Was he suggesting what Clint thought he was? Bucky lifted his head up, looking tired and embarrassed as all hell, which was kind of cute. Who knew ninety-year old men could blush like that? "Do- would you want to step out with me one night, or whatever it is the kids call it these d-"

Clint didn't even let him finish his question, because why even _bother_ with talking when he could be turning those few scant inches over to press their lips together and kiss him. Bucky froze against him for a second and Clint had a moment to think _shit, did I read this wrong?_ But then Bucky was hooking a hand against his jaw and kissing him back softly, and _Jesus Almighty_ that was nice.

"You think whoever's out there knew you were going to be a popsicle for seventy years?" Clint asked, still close enough that Bucky's mouth was brushing his. Bucky laughed, pressing their foreheads together, and he smelled absolutely brilliant. Like apples and sunshine and comfort and- yeah, home was probably a good way to describe it. Soulmates. Holy shit. He'd thought that was a fairy tale, but it kind of made sense, after everything else that had happened to him. Gods and mind-control and supersoldiers and soulmates.

"'s that a yes, I'll go on a date with you?"

"Dude, Natasha's been nagging me for weeks about asking you out," Clint admitted.

"How come you didn't?"

"Felt like you had enough drama on your plate as it was," he answered. "Didn't want to make your life harder than it was."

Bucky snorted. "We're Avengers, drama comes with the territory."

"I guess. So... you're sure, then? You and me?"

"Couldn't think of anything better," Bucky breathed against his lips, and Clint tried not to shiver. "Are _you_ sure?"

"Shit, fuck yeah," Clint agreed enthusiastically, earning another amused laugh from Bucky. "You wanna stay here tonight, seen as you were creeping around anyway?"

Bucky turns his head away, looking embarrassed again, and Clint snickers at him. "It's fine, I lurk around in the vents sometimes, I can't judge you."

"I know. I hear you rattling around in them," Bucky comments. Damn that supersoldier hearing. At least Steve pretended he didn't hear Clint rattling around up there. "But yeah, sure. Just sleeping?"

"Just sleeping. No sex 'til the third date," Clint confirms, wriggling his way down the bed before he pulls at Bucky. Bucky goes where he wants without complaint, although he makes that amused huff Natasha does sometimes when Clint yanks the covers up and then squirms his way onto Bucky's chest. Hmm. With the amount of hard muscle he had, Clint had been expecting him to be uncomfortable to lay on, but he was just. Solid. And nice and warm, like a furnace. He'd always run a little on the cold side, so this was perfect. _Bucky_ was perfect. Although Clint probably should've asked him to take off his boots before getting under the covers. Oh well. It wasn't like they were clean anyway.

Awh, jeez, he really hoped they were soulmates.

 

"Why don't the others have to do PR?"

Clint shoots a pleading look at Tony, and then Pepper standing behind him, but there was no sympathy to be found from either of them. Heartless bastards, both of them. He loved Pepper, but she asked far too much of him. Tony ignores him in favour of rustling around in his jacket for the flask he kept hidden there- it used to be filled with whiskey, but Pepper had replaced it with orange juice in the last year and Tony had gone along with it. Pepper offered a friendly wave to a few concerned-looking officials before turning back to him. Clint had been surrounded by Alphas since birth, and he'd never come across anyone as commanding and borderline terrifying as Virginia Potts.

"The Avengers don't exactly have a good reputation right now with everything that's happened," Pepper states. "We need to build up a more positive look, and people need to feel safe."

"Yeah, because I'm totally harmless," Clint scoffs. He had four weapons hidden underneath his civilian clothes, and his bow on top of that.

"You're not, but you're not going to turn into the Hulk, and you're not going to mess with people's heads, and you're not a freezer-burnt war veteran, so we have to go with it," Tony reasons.

"But why something like _this?"_

Clint gestures at the curtain separating them and the crowd he can hear milling around. The large sign outside had called this "Your Designation Doesn't Define You!" Which was all well and good, but Clint didn't like the idea of all these young omegas thinking they could go into the secret agent workforce just because Hawkeye could do it. After all, Clint didn't have _half_ the problems they'd face, given the circumstances surrounding his designation. He still understood, yes, but he didn't want to be a role model. It was weird and uncomfortable and he'd murdered far too many people to be someone for kids to look up to. Then again, he'd seen someone in a Dr Doom shirt the other day, so maybe it wasn't about being a good role model. That, or the kid didn't realise what an idiot the Latverian dictator was.

"It's nice," Pepper says, frowning. "You don't want to inspire kids?"

"Not really," Clint replies. "Wouldn't it be better to send Steve out? He's nice and friendly. And he won't stab someone if they try to hug him."

"You're not allowed to stab people if they hug you, Barton," Tony recites, like he's heard it from other people a hundred times. Probably from Steve or Rhodey. They were big on hugs. Clint wondered if Bucky would stab him if he went in for a hug suddenly. He had more self-restraint than Clint did, most of the time. "Hey, is that a new jacket?"

Clint looks down at the coat he's wearing, and... whoops. It's a black, sleek leather jacket that's got a million zips and secret pockets and it's just a little too big for him. Probably because he'd grabbed it off of Bucky's bedroom floor when he'd rushed out this morning. They'd spent the morning in bed, because someone let Bucky have a TV in his bedroom (Clint wasn't allowed to, because Steve thought he'd spend the whole day in bed- which he _would_ , yeah, but it was still mean.) His own purple hoodie was probably still tangled in Bucky's covers somewhere. The problem was that it also s _melled_ like Bucky, which the others probably couldn't pick up, but Tony was wrinkling his nose in that way that meant he could definitely pick up the alpha scent coming off of it. Pepper didn't react, but she was probably smelling it too.

"Should I be giving someone a key to the Tower?" Tony asks, raising an eyebrow.

"What? No."

"That's nice, Clint. Tony, leave him be," Pepper said. "You can tell them about healthy alpha-omega relationships while you're out there."

Clint groans.

The kids are nice enough, he guesses. Most of them are girls, as he'd kind of expected, but there's a few guys clustered together, and one or two that don't give off a gender at all. They all bombard him with questions he doesn't know how to answer until they realised he didn't have anything particularly fancy and inspiring to say. When the officials got tired and walked off the younger ones crowded around him to start asking him more fun questions, which was way better than talking about the "damaging effect of negative stereotypes against omegas." That stuff was just depressing, he didn't want to tell kids about how some people would treat them like shit for something they can't change or help.

"Do you like puppies?" A young girl asks, eyes huge and impossibly blue in her face.

"Dogs are quite possibly the best thing on the planet," Clint agrees enthusiastically.

"Even better than soulmates?" This one comes from an older omega, her fringe hiding most of her face.

"I'll get back to you on that one," he said.

"Do you have a girlfriend, Hawkeye? Or, or, a boyfriend?"

"Or a significant other," one of the guys add.

"I... I'm seeing a guy, yeah," Clint admits. It wasn't like these kids were going to out him to the world, after all. Their parents might have, but the officials had shooed them out of the building the minute Clint had stepped out and said hello. Anyway, someone had to tell these kids it was cool to be gay.

"Is he beautiful?"

"Beautiful? He looks like he's come out of the dumpster, but, like, in a hot way," he tells the girl sitting at his feet. She nods knowingly, like that made complete sense to her. Maybe ten-year olds understood the sex appeal of the Winter Soldier better than he did. Clint didn't understand a lot of things, but how Bucky managed to look like a hobo and also absurdly attractive was right at the top of that list. Along with geography. He could only ever remember twenty states at a time.

"Are you gonna bond with him?"

_Bond_ with him? Clint absently rubbed at his neck, the clear skin there. He'd always loved the idea of bonding- surely that was the best part of being an omega, knowing you could meet the right alpha and have their mind with him all the time. So sue him, he was a romantic. He wondered what it'd be like. Imagined Bucky's presence in the back of his mind, making snide comments during meetings, having his back during missions. Except.

Except Clint didn't do heats, and that was when the bonding was supposed to happen.

"I would if I could, I guess," he said.

"Is that him?"

One of the boys points behind Clint, and he tips his head back to see- yep, a very present, very unimpressed-looking James Buchanan Barnes, wearing a bright purple hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He was leaning up against a wall a fair distance from Clint and his menagerie of children, far enough to be politely out of earshot. Although with his ears, he could probably be outside and still hear them talking. And Clint had just said he was hot and agreed to a bonding that couldn't actually happen. Whoops. He offers a wave. Bucky just raises an eyebrow. Maybe he wanted his jacket back- they were somewhere in Texas, he must've brought another Quinjet down here. Well, too bad, it was comfortable and Clint was going to keep it on unless Bucky took it off of him.

"That's him," Clint agrees.

"He looks like a sad raccoon," one of the kids informs him seriously, and Clint laughs so hard he falls off his chair and bruises his tailbone.

As it turns out, Bucky does not want his jacket back, which is just fine by Clint.

 

He woke up in a daze, something knocking him out of his sleep. Clint looked around and noticed the clock blinking on the wall. Three am. He hadn't been having a nightmare or anything, why was he awake? He glanced to the other side of the bed and noticed Bucky sitting on the side of the bed, facing away from him.

"Buck? You okay?"

Something's wrong.

The Winter Soldier lunges at him with a cold, deathly glint in his eye and Clint's reflexes kick in automatically, which means he kicks Bucky directly on the nose, not even holding back a little. There's what feels like a crunch under his foot and he's already rolling off the bed, knife in hand- it's not one of his, isn't familiar, it must be Bucky's. What do you know, they both smuggle knives under their pillows, it must be love. His heart is rabbiting in his chest frantically and he's got the knife pointed at the hoodie-clad figure on the bed, and he sees flecks of blood hit the bed, and-

Shit.

"Fuck," he hasn't got his aids in, can't hear if he's hurt Bucky or not, just stands there trembling with the knife clenched in his hand. Can't tell if he'd seen what he thought he'd seen or if he'd just gone crazy for no reason at all. Shit, he'd just assaulted his soulmate. Great one, Barton.

" _Ow,"_ Bucky says clearly, raising his head. One hand, the flesh one, is clasped over his nose where there's a trickle of blood leaking out.

" _Fuck_ ," Clint says again with feeling, dropping the knife and clambering back on the bed to get a closer look at the damage he's caused. Luckily, Bucky would heal up pretty quickly, but he'd still kicked him in the face. He wipes away the blood with a few fingers, ends up smearing it more than anything else, and then finds a discarded shirt to use instead. He thinks it's his. Only after he's finished fussing does he realise how quiet Bucky's being, and not just because Clint can't hear him.

"Barnes? I didn't knock your brain out, did I?"

Bucky shakes his head and looks at Clint with dark eyes. " _Steve... he... if I get like that, he just lets me beat the shit out of him."_

"Oh." There wasn't much he could say to that. "I'm more breakable than Steve, remember?"

" _No, no, it's a- it's a good thing, Clint. Thank you."_

"You're welcome?"

And then it hits him. When the Winter Soldier comes out, Steve _lets_ the Soldier hurt him. How does it feel for Bucky, snapping out of that and seeing his best friend bruised and bloody and completely fine with it? Knowing if he has a bad day, that he could _kill_ Steve without the man doing a thing to stop it? Knowing that he could wake up from being Hydra's asset one morning to see Steve's corpse lying there? Clint's done the kindest thing possible completely by accident- he didn't let the Soldier hurt him. Fought back, even.

_I think you understand him more than me, some days_ , Steve had said.

He lunges at Bucky, grabbing him tight and _squeezing_. Bucky flops back on the bed and accepts the embrace, and after a few seconds hands settle on the small of Clint's back, pull him closer so their chests are pressed tight together. Close like this, Clint can feel Bucky's heart rattling in his chest along with his own. Bucky rolls them onto their side and presses his lips to the corner of Clint's mouth. Wow.

"Man, you ever feeling a Winter Soldier moment coming on and you need someone to kick your ass, I'm here. One hundred percent," he informs Bucky, who rolls his eyes and says something like _you're stupid,_ but his hair is kind of in the way and Clint isn't sure. Still, the thought of Bucky actually staying here all the time, spending nights in _Clint's_ bed with _Clint_ and not just because he'd had a nightmare _,_ is one that makes his heart flutter in the best kind of way. Bucky tips his forehead against Clint's, closes his eyes but keeps holding Clint close like anything short of the apocalypse couldn't break them apart. It's absolutely fucking amazing.

Steve's going to murder him.

 

"Steve's going to murder me," he informs Bucky.

"Steve's not going to do shit," Bucky replies, rolling his eyes.

They're skipping the team training today (the _mandatory_ team training Steve organizes every Tuesday) because Bucky decided he wanted to go wandering the city with Clint instead. He didn't call it a date, not exactly, but he'd had a shifty look in his eye that had hinted at it. Clint had forgotten his phone and left it on his bedside table, and after his had gotten three consecutive message chimes Bucky had switched it off. Clint had thought he was going to throw it out the window, actually, but he'd shown some self-restraint. Still, Steve was going to throttle Clint. He got really antsy about these teamwork things, and when he found out they'd missed it because they were on a date...well. Bucky could get away with it, but Clint wouldn't.

He hands Clint the coffee, the fancy upmarket coffee, takes a sip of his own horrifically sugary looking latte, and it clicks. "You didn't take that bullet for me because I was an omega, you did it because you had a _crush_ on me!"

"No, really," Bucky drawls. "You think?"

"Ha," Clint says triumphantly, and fistpumps the air, nearly upturning the coffee as he did. He didn't mention that he'd been harbouring a crush far before that, when Steve had brought home a sad, bedraggled Bucky who'd immediately started annoying the shit out of Sam when Steve turned his back. Bucky snorts at him, unimpressed and starts walking up the street, and Clint nearly trips when he rushes to keep up.

"You're a dork," Bucky informs him, but he reaches out with his right hand and links their fingers together. "How do you have the skills that you have when you can't even walk properly?"

"Walking wasn't that important in the circus," Clint answers.

"Steve said you ran away to join them. That was a cliche even when I was a kid, Barton. What gives?"

"Doesn't everyone need a fun and interesting backstory?"

"Mine wasn't fun," Bucky grumbled. "Spent it running after a blond who liked trouble almost as much as it liked him- oh, wait, I'm doing that now, too."

"At least you got to a badass in between, that's pretty hot," Clint offers.

Bucky rolls his eyes.

 

"What is _this,"_ Steve says, and it doesn't sound like a question, not really. Clint makes a questioning noise from where he is on the couch, Wanda under one of his arms as they watched the newest episode of _Dog Cops._ Steve doesn't say anything, just smacks a magazine down on the coffee table, and it looks like one of those gossip rags. Clint takes in Steve's patented Eyebrows of Disapproval and leans forward to see what's got him so upset.

And. Oh dear.

The magazine proudly proclaims _"Hawkeye and The Winter Soldier: Assassin Lovers spotted holding hands in Central Park!"_ It's a nice picture, he guesses. The photographer had gotten them just as Clint was smiling up at Bucky and Bucky was snickering at something Clint had said. It was... kind of sweet, really.

Except Steve clearly didn't think so.

Clint turned to Wanda to give her a pleading stare, but she'd already stood up to escape. Vision passed by as well, pausing to inspect the magazine as he did. He then offered a quiet "congratulations," and they'd left. What great friends they were. He was never recruiting new Avengers again, they were dirty traitors, the lot of them. Steve coughed to get his attention and then crossed his arms. Yep, he definitely wasn't making it out of this alive. Sure, Steve and Clint were friends, but Steve was protective of Bucky like nothing else on the planet, which had secured Clint's death sentence.

"This is where you two were on Tuesday," Steve said.

"We weren't at the park the whole time," Clint offered. "We went to the zoo, and the coffee shop, and then we went to Brooklyn Bowl-"

"Clint. I'm being serious."

"I..."

"Oh my fucking _god_ , Steve, leave the boy alone," Tony groaned, sitting back in his armchair. Clint shot him a quick, grateful look before he started edging away now that Steve's disapproving stare was turning on Tony. Clint hopped off the couch silently and snagged the magazine as Steve began lecturing Tony, unhooking the vent cover in the wall that he was sure Tony had built especially for this. He tossed the magazine in first, already planning on framing it somewhere Steve couldn't see.

" _Clint_."

"Yes, Steve?"

Unfortunately, it wasn't very easy to act casual when you were halfway into a vent. Sure, he could do it, but it probably wasn't the best view. His ass was still sticking out, dammit, he hadn't been fast enough. He should've left the magazine behind, nice as the photo was. He sighed, resigned to spending the rest of his life being greeted by those fucking eyebrows, and that was when he heard footsteps entering the lounge.

"Stevie? What's- Clint? You stuck again?"

"I wasn't stuck the first time," he grumbled, still half in the vent. "I don't get stuck."

"Sure you weren't," Bucky agreed easily. "Come on, out."

Clint sighed and began wriggling backwards to get out of the vent. The magazine got hooked on his elbow as he did and hit the tiled floor a few seconds before he did. Bucky was standing next to him, looking bemused and smelling far too good for Clint to handle. Then those blue-grey eyes were travelling down to the magazine, which was facedown, luckily. Steve was still by the coffee table, but his expression was more thunder and fury than disappointment, now, and Clint refrained from hiding behind Bucky. Tony offered him a shrug of sympathy where Steve couldn't see. Which, fair enough, he'd tried. Best teammate.

"You reading the gossip now, Barton? Which celebrities are on the rise now?"

Bucky reached down to pick up the mag before Clint could stop him, and he flipped it over and studied the cover's contents with mild interest. Steve's expression got even worse at that, and Clint cringed. He was ready to accept stereotypical designation shit now if that meant Bucky would protect him from Steve.

"'s a nice picture," Bucky commented, and Clint made a hum of agreement. "Steve, what's that look for?"

"I was trying to have a conversation with Clint," Steve said, and he couldn't sound any more unimpressed, could he?

"About this?"

"That. And... other things."

Clint cringed, because here it came. Steve was going to explain in sordid detail about Clint's many failings over the years before Bucky had came along. The insubordination, the all-too-often times when Clint would shoot to kill even with Steve specifying otherwise, the times he'd been caught by the bad guys without any pants on, and- he really wasn't relationship material, was he? Jesus Christ. Maybe Steve was onto something by trying to break them up before they'd really gotten going.

But then Steve was settling a box onto the coffee table, and crossing his arms at Clint. "I want you two to be _safe_. Things like this weren't available in the thirties, but they're available now and they're there to be used."

Hang on.

"Contraceptive injections," Tony read out, lifting the box curiously. "Single use, value pack. Five for the price of two."

Bucky spluttered next to him, face going tomato red, which he hid by holding the magazine in front of his face. Clint just stared at Steve, baffled. He was... giving them _those_ instead of hanging Clint's mangled body on the outside of the building? They didn't even need contraceptives, Clint couldn't even _get_ pregnant in the first place, what the fuck. Steve was puffing out his chest a little, like he was proud of himself and- what?

"I thought you were going to tell me to stay away from him," he said, still confused.

Bucky sighs next to him. "Clint, he knows we're soulmates already."

"Oh. So it's... okay?"

"As long as you don't miss anymore team sessions," Steve answers agreeably. "Wait- why did you think I'd have a problem with it?"

"He's just a moron," Bucky replies for him, tucking Clint under his arm, and that's nice. Steve's given them his blessing. He starts laughing without meaning to, and it sounds slightly hysterical but he can't help it. He'd shacked up with the man's best friend, the thing he treasured more than his shield, and all _Captain fucking America_ had to say on the matter was _don't get pregnant?_ His life was a fucking wild ride. Maybe those people on the internet was right and it was all a crazy simulation, like in The Matrix. Except The Matrix couldn't even begin to imagine this shit.

"Is he okay?" He heard Steve ask, sounding a little concerned.

"He's fine. We'll be going now."

"I'll bring the box to your room!"

 

"I'm fairly sure you're not supposed to be fraternizing with the enemy," Clint supplies helpfully.

"Would you rather I go do this to Tony?"

"Dear god, no," Clint said, a little bit of a whine in his voice.

Bucky's got him backed up against one of the corners in the makeshift maze they're supposed to be running around for 'Training Tuesday'. Steve split them up into two teams and told them to take down the others, but Wanda and Vision were flying above them which made the maze redundant, and Bucky didn't seem interested in hitting Clint with the paint gun tucked into his back pocket. He seemed more interested in running his thumb over the spot where Clint's bondmark would be, if he'd had one, and sucking bruises into Clint's jaw, which Clint was one hundred percent on board for. Bucky's teeth grazed the sensitive spot under his ear and he sucked in a startled gasp, yanking on Bucky's hair until he can manhandle him into a rough kiss. He has to admit, this is pretty damn close to perfect.

Bucky doesn't seem to have any complaints about Clint's admittedly pushy attitude when it comes to making out, which is great, because he can't help it. Bucky's flaw, however, seems to be that he's an incorrigible _tease,_ which would be fine if they didn't live in a Tower where they were constantly getting interrupted by someone.

"If you put your hand in my pants I'll give you my entire life savings," Clint pants into Bucky's mouth.

"How much is that? Like, twenty bucks, 'm guessin'," Bucky mutters back, but his hands are trailing down Clint's chest with intent, and then-

-he's pivoting on the spot and the paintball hits Clint in the ass, sharp and painful. He yelps and turns around to glare at Sam, who's _supposed to be on his team._ Sam offers him a shrug and then dives behind a wall as Bucky fires back, still using Clint as a shield. Oh well, he's out anyway. If an enemy shot off his ass on the field he'd be bleeding out by now. Hopefully Bucky won't actually do that in the field, Clint's not bulletproof. He wipes the gaudy yellow paint off his ass and flicks it at Bucky, who snorts and manages to hit Sam directly in the chest. Sam falls to the ground with a dramatic cry and then Bucky's scaling the maze walls to avoid Steve, who's come skidding around the corner, a paint-stained and irritated-looking Tony trailing along behind him.

"I'm dumping you and eloping to Paris with Vision," he announces, and is promptly ignored.

 

Clint's aiming at one of the hovering drones in the distance, and that's when he feels it. He isn't sure exactly what _it_ is, but he feels off-balance all of a sudden, dizzy, and he whirls around and punches a black-clad men that's trying to sneak up on him until he crashes to the ground. Looking at him there, Clint's skin is prickling like someone's putting hot needles against it, and he lets out a distressed whine in the back of his throat without meaning to. Oh jeez. That's- that's not good. The man on the ground twitches and Clint's fumbling for a knife, but it drops through his numb fingers and lands blade-first in the crushed grass, by the unconscious guy's nose.

Then he's on his knees- when did his legs give out? The grass is damp on his knees and it's too _overwhelming_ , like his senses have been ramped up to eleven- and Natasha's voice is sharp, worried through the comms. He can't even make out what they're saying properly through the haze in his brain. Did someone hit him with a drug? But none of them had gotten close enough to manage that. He wouldn't have let them get close enough for that. Airborne? No, the others would've noticed. What the _fuck_? A man's grabbing for him, and no, that's not right, that smell is _bad_ , and he lets out a snarl without meaning to.

Suddenly, Steve's in front of him, crouching down, and Clint resists the urge to growl at him. What the _fuck?_ Steve's inhaling, quick and panicked, and then his pupils are dilating to hell and he's scrambling back, away from Clint like he's got some sort of horrible disease. Hey, maybe he does have some sort of horrible disease, that'd explain all of it. And why his pants felt damp. Awh, man, had he pissed himself too? That was fucked up. Maybe he'd be lucky and someone would put him out of his misery before he got gross boils or his skin erupted with baby spiders or something.

"-going into _heat_ , I thought he was on suppressants," Steve's saying, worried, and _what_?

"I d'n't do that shit," Clint says, and it sounds slow, and he's slurring the words like he's drunk. "Never. 'm broke."

"Get him out of the field. _Now_ ," Natasha orders, but Steve looks dismayed even with how Clint's vision is blurring slightly.

"I _can't_ ," Steve yells, and he's moving, keeping the bad guys away from Clint. "I can't touch him, Natasha, I can't."

Fair enough, if he's actually pissed himself. That's pretty gross. No wonder Steve was giving him a wide berth. At least he's fighting off the bad guys to keep them away, because Clint doesn't remember how his legs work anymore. Steve's being his White Knight, all heroic and shit. Which is nice and all, but it doesn't solve whatever's going on with Clint. He feels boneless, wobbly, almost, like that one scene in Harry Potter where they fix his broken wrist. He's so _hot_ but it's _freezing,_ too, and he needs help, he needs his _matealphaknothelp-_

" _Clint_! Clint, look at me!"

Clint snaps back to alertness, or at least some semblance of it, and there's that clear blue-grey and the smell of apples and alpha and _home. That's... really nice,_ he thinks, slumping forward and inhaling that delicious smell. Wow. Bucky's warm, too, but not burning and prickly like Clint. He'd thought Bucky had been on the other side of the field they were on, and if he'd run all the way here- that's pretty damn fast. It wasn't like Clint was dying, though. Or was it? It felt a little bit like that time he'd woken up during surgery, dizzy and aching and out of place.

"I don' feel so good," he informs Bucky distantly as he's picked up, slung over an unforgiving steel shoulder. That was kind of a lie in itself, because he still felt hot and shaky and off-center, but he was also vaguely aware he had a boner. These tight pants were _not_ suitable for erections, Jesus Christ. Awh, man, he really didn't have any control over his body, did he?

"I'll take the Quinjet, come back once I've dropped him off at the tower," Bucky's saying, and no, he's not talking to Clint, so it's fine. Clint occupies himself with sneaking his hands down to palm at Bucky's ass, and Bucky jumps at that, lets out a startled bark of laughter that sounds more worried than amused. That's... probably not a good thing. Especially with that flicker of sensation at the base of his spine where Bucky's got metal fingers holding him steady. It's, but Clint- he's- he _needs-_

"-can't _leave_ him like this, долбоёб," Natasha's spitting, sounding enraged.

"He can't consent like this," Bucky argues back.

"You want to leave him like that? It's his first heat, he can't handle it alone, especially when he's got no idea what's going on," she growls. "Steve gave you the box, right?"

Clint doesn't like that tone of voice. He doesn't really want to hear Natasha either, just wants to wrap himself around Bucky and make the burning-crawling sensation on his whole body stop, so he pats at his aids with clumsy fingers that won't do what he wants them to do to turn off the comms. First he accidentally turns them off completely, and then when he flicks them back on he blanks out- what was he doing?- and then Bucky's dropping him down onto a seat on the Quinjet, and he's _leaving._ Clint whines, grabs at his jeans and manages to get his fingers hooked in a belt loop. He can't actually pull him back, wouldn't have the strength to do it even without the way he feels all buzzed and wrong. But Bucky can't leave, he can't, he needs to stay, needs to stay with Clint, and he's stopped, thank goodness, and he sits down in the seat next to Clint and Clint immediately twists his way into Bucky's lap. He rubs his nose against Bucky's jaw with a pleased hum, and he's still not sure what's going on but the burning sensation eases when he's pressed up against him like this.

"-not sure if I can keep control," Bucky's saying desperately, and Clint flicks his tongue out against his pulse point, tasting sweat and skin, and _oh_ , that's nice.

"-off, he's your soulmate, he needs you."

" _Soulmate_? How do you-"

"He wouldn't be trusting you like this if he didn't want you, you absolute idiot. Didn't you _hear_ him growling at Steve through the comms?"

Clint's had enough of all this talking, so he leans up, ignoring Bucky's sharp look at him. Still, Bucky's distracted enough that Clint manages to get the earpiece off of Bucky and he throws it over his shoulder somewhere. It clatters on the ground of the Quinjet somewhere and Clint's _burning,_ it _hurts,_ and he doesn't realise he's trying to get out of his clothes until Bucky's hands are on him, pushing away his frantic hands gently and unzipping his vest, pushing it down his shoulders. He wriggles out of it, yanking up his undershirt as well and flinging it away, leaving his bracer and glove on. Bucky's hands steady him as he overbalances and nearly falls, the metal one cold enough on his bare skin that he jumps.

"Clint. _Clint_. Clint, look at me!"

There's enough command and raw panic in Bucky's voice by then that a little bit of clarity comes back to Clint, enough that he meets Bucky's eyes and manages to hold still. Well, he's still shifting back and forth a little but he can't _help it._ Bucky's flesh hand is making gentle little circles against his overheated skin, and it's nice but he needs something else that he can't quite articulate.

"Hrm?" He says, intelligently.

"Do you know what's going on, Clint?"

"Hurts," that's the understatement of the year. It's not pain, not exactly, but it's sensation. And way too much of it, abrasive and overwhelming and _burning_. He wriggles in Bucky's grip a little harder. "Make it _stop."_

"I've got you, it's okay," Bucky answers soothingly. "Just gotta get out of here, alright? I gotta pilot the jet."

Clint whines again. He doesn't want Bucky to go and fly the jet, he wants Bucky here. He wants Bucky's hands on him and his legs between Clint's thighs and he wants- he wants to get _off_ , fucking hell. His hips are grinding down restlessly into Bucky's, and Bucky's breathing is getting unsteady and this time it's not from panic. Cold metal fingers dig into his bare skin _hard_ , and it should hurt, should bruise, but instead it sends a molten wave of fire up his spine and he's gasping. He tucks his face into Bucky's neck and tries to breathe again.

"Please," he breathes. "Oh, god, please."

"Please what- what do you want, what can I do," Bucky mutters back distractedly.

"Want- want you to-" He can't quite get the words out properly, can't even form a coherent sentence in his head, so he grabs for Bucky's flesh hand and yanks it to his aching dick. Bucky's fingers curl automatically around him warmly and Clint shudders, hips jerking at the hot rush that surges through him. He's soaked through with sweat and slick and- fuck, he can't stop himself from rubbing himself up against Bucky, letting out a moan against his skin.

"Can you-? Can you, like this," Bucky asks, sounding gritty and turned on, and Clint's gone, shivering hard and coming in his damp, tight pants.

"Oh, fuck," he groans when his brain comes back online, and his skin's stopped buzzing. "Fuck, Barnes, I think I'm in heat."

"No shit," Bucky replies shakily. "Gonna let me fly us back to the Tower?"

He lifts himself off of Bucky's lap and his knees tremble, feeling like jelly, and he flops onto the seat next to him. Bucky's watching him, pupils blown to all hell and Clint can smell his arousal, thick and spicy in the air, and it makes him clench his fists because he can't jump him again, he won't. Not here, they're in danger and he's not going to get them both killed because he can't last ten minutes without trying to get Bucky's dick out. The orgasm had taken the edge off, but he can still feel the heat burning him up from the inside, and he hadn't realised the name had been quite so literal.

"Go. Make it fast," he manages to get out, and Bucky gets up the minutes the words pass his tingling lips and stumbles to the pilot's seat. He trips over a bag someone's left there on the way, nearly ends up on his ass. He's missing most, if not all, of his usual deadly grace. Clint would laugh at him if he wasn't so absurdly turned on. As it is, all he can do is dig his blunt fingernails into the bare skin of his arm and try not to move too much in case it starts those oversensitize ripples up his spine again.

 

"Is it normally this- this _much_ ," he bites out, not even able to give it the proper inflection to make it a question.

"Dunno," Bucky answers distractedly, pressing his nose against the curve of Clint's ankle, pressing a gentle kiss there that was completely at odds with the way they'd crashed into Clint's room the minute it had been safe to jump out of the Quinjet. He hadn't even given Clint a chance to try and walk to their quarters, had just scooped him up and headed for the elevator with a determination and resolve that put all kinds of delicious imagery into Clint's brain. He still hadn't quite gotten his head around the whole heat thing just yet, but Bucky seemed to have some idea of what to do, and at least he was coherent, because Clint certainly wasn't.

Clint grits his teeth and stabs the contraceptive needle into his thigh hard, and it's a testament to his heat that it doesn't even seem to hurt that much. Thank you, Steve Rogers. Captain America was a good friend, the best friend, even, which would upset Tony greatly. He releases the plunger and sucks in an overwhelmed breath, and Bucky's gently sliding the needle out, tossing it in the direction of the overflowing trashcan. He lands another kiss on Clint's exposed knee, distracting him from the stab of pain- and oh, he's still talking, whoops.

"-never been with an omega in heat before."

" _Never_?"

"Being gay was weird in the thirties. Had sex with beta guys in bars sometimes. Took some girls out dancing, never anything more than that," came the reply.

"Ah," Clint says intelligently, because he can't manage much more than that with Bucky's hands on him and the heat ramping up again, knocking any conscious thought into a fog of need.

Bucky's tongue is hot against the inside of his slick thigh where it's tracing slow circles up his skin- he's _soaked_ , the bedsheets are damp under his clenched fists. Clint can't help the way his hips jerk up desperately and his legs spread under Bucky's touch. God, he must look like such a slut right now but he needs it so bad he can't even get enough oxygen into his lungs. He hiccups out a moan and metal fingers lace with his on the bed, hold him tight, and then the warmth of Bucky's flesh hand is dragging up his thigh, grazing his hole just barely. Teasing. It's cruel, almost, and Clint whines at him.

"So _hot_ , Clint, want you so bad," Bucky murmurs, the vibration of his voice buzzing against Clint's skin.

"Yeah," Clint breathes. "Come on, Barnes, give it to me."

"Yeah," Bucky repeats, barely a whisper, and then there's a finger in him, hot and curling, and Clint's nearly writhing just from that alone.

God, he doesn't mind fingering normally, but the heat twists it into a painfully exquisite kind of pleasure that sparks straight to his cock. Then he's moaning again, because Bucky's sucking a bruise high up on his thigh and adding a second finger like it's nothing. He's so goddamned wet that there's a slick noise when Bucky thrusts his fingers with more force than Clint was expecting, and he makes an overwhelmed noise and shivers, hard. Bucky's mouth is on his hip, grazing his teeth over the skin, and he's struck with the urge to grab that mess of long hair and _pull,_ yanks Bucky up so he can kiss him like he's dying. Bucky kisses back with the same desperate fervor, biting hard and crooking his fingers where they're inside Clint, and he could get off again like this, just like this, but it won't help. He needs- he _needs_ -

Bucky's breath hitches and he gasps against Clint's swollen lips when Clint's shaking hand finds his cock. He's hard enough to hammer nails, and when Clint meets his gaze his pupils are dilated to hell- his own probably look the same, come to think of it. The third finger makes him arch up into Bucky's chest helplessly, and he can't stand it any longer.

Bucky goes back easily when Clint shoves at his chest weakly, settles back with a worried look despite the arousal curling around them- and he'd really won out in the soulmate department, because the heatscent had to be absolutely _killing_ Bucky and he was still checking to make sure Clint was okay. He lets out a little amused huff and straddles Bucky's hips carefully, watching for the way Bucky shudders against him. Fuck, that's hot. Still, he had a mission to complete, or his body did, at least, because he was automatically settling down carefully, and Bucky's dick is fucking perfect when it slides in, hot and full. Bucky's stock-still underneath him, one hand on his hip to guide him gently, but otherwise letting Clint do as he pleases. Clint has to tip his head back and just gasp at the ceiling, because if it felt like this all the time he was never letting Bucky out of the bed ever again.

" _God_ ," Bucky says, quiet and overwhelmed.

"Fuck," Clint agrees wholeheartedly.

He has to move then, or he's going to pass out or die or something equally as dramatic, and as he lifts up Bucky moans, dropping his sweaty forehead onto Clint's shoulder. His fingers are tight and possessive on the curve of Clint's ass, just hard enough that there's a lingering thought that _he could bruise me, mark me up_ floating around in the half-aware fog of his mind. Bucky's hips shift under his as he begins a fast, burning pace that strokes up the buzzing in his stomach and up his spine, restless in a way that makes Clint aware that he could push him down and take him hard if he wanted to, but he isn't, he's letting Clint do what he likes, and that's _hot_.

"Gonna knot me good, Buck?"

"Oh, yeah," Bucky pants back, a dark glint in his eye that's reminiscent of the Winter Soldier. "Gonna- gonna make sure you can't even walk _straight_ tomorrow, make sure you feel me every time you move."

"Fuck," Clint bites out at that, unable to collect his thoughts enough to tell Bucky exactly how much he likes that particular thought. He thinks Bucky understands anyway.

Bucky's teeth scrape over the join of his shoulder and neck, just barely there, but it sends a flood of heat through Clint's stomach and all he can manage is an overwhelmed sounding "hngh" and a writhe of his hips that feels like way too much and not enough all at once. What would it feel like if his teeth sunk in there, drew blood? What would it feel like if they _bonded_ like this? Fuck, fuck, fuck. It hdn't been an option before now, but if he was in heat it was fine, right? They could do this. He could have this. He could have _Bucky._

Then Bucky's leaning back, studying Clint's face with far too much clarity for someone in his situation, and Clint must be stinking up the whole floor with his heatscent and he can feel Bucky's knot swelling against him but Bucky's checking to make sure _he's okay, that he wants this,_ and god, he didn't deserve someone this good but he'd be fucked if he was letting go now. He wonders who's begging, because it isn't Bucky, but he can hear a desperate voice saying "please, please, please _alpha_ -" and it's him, he's begging, and he wants it so _bad_. "Do it, god, Bucky, _please_."

"You can't- you're- I'm," Bucky is stammering, eyes wide and pupils so blown there's only a slight ring of grey-blue visible. Clint grinds his hips down desperately, gasps at the friction and the knot slipping inside him easily but Bucky's holding him so he can't do much more than that, but he needs _more._ Bucky's gasping then, moaning and Clint feels him come, hot and absurdly arousing, and he's going to die like this.

"-member," he manages to get out, "said if I could, would I, and I said _yeah_ , and I want it, I want it so bad, I'm gonna _die,_ please," and there's metal fingers curling around his cock and he's coming so hard he whites out.

When he comes back to his senses the burning's eased up enough for him to think, but he's orgasm-stupid instead, so he flops forward onto a metal shoulder, worn out and buzzing around the edges. Bucky's flesh hand smooths down his sweaty hair, holds him steady. He doesn't say anything, just breathes and feels it for a moment. _God_. That little weed in the middle of a circus crime ring never would've even been able to imagine this would be how things would turn out.

"I don't want to hurt you," Bucky mumbles by his ear.

"Man, I can't really feel anything right now," Clint mutters back. "Do it before my brain comes back online."

"And you're _sure_ ," Bucky insists.

"Fuck's sake, Barnes, get your teeth in me," Clint orders. "Wanted it before, want it now."

He feels Bucky smile against his neck, wide and pleased, and he can't help grinning at the ceiling himself before he closes his eyes and braces himself. There's a sharp, searing pain and then an ocean of chaos, endless and roaring so loud it hurts.

_-Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight-_

_-it's cold, so cold, and the straps holding him down are biting into his exposed skin as he tries to escape even though he knows there's no getting away from this. There's a man with a white lab coat and a needle filled with god-knows-what approaching him from the left. He can't forget again, he can't hurt them again, he can still see the girl whose throat he has crushed under the steel of his metal arm, and she was only a baby. The needle slides into him and it's even colder now, it hurts, he needs to remember, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, three-two-five-five-_

"Jesus Christ," Clint breathes. "'s it usually that... _intense_?"

The bond snaps into place in the back of his mind a second later like there was a spot missing in there especially for it, and Clint supposes that there was. He can feel the edges of Bucky's consciousness, a solid blue-grey tinged with affection and awe and a little unease. Most of all he feels the _love_ , the hot wave of possessive warmth  He'd heard of bonds being vivid before, but nothing about actually seeing other people's _memories,_ what the hell. If Clint was seeing HYDRA's fantastic torture methods and brainwashing, what was Bucky seeing?

"Budapest, huh?"

Well, that answered that. Clint leaned back, gave him a smile that probably looked extremely dopey, as high on endorphins as he was right now. "We don't talk about Budapest, James."

"Hrm," came the noncommital reply. Bucky's hand was playing with the hair on the back of his neck, gentle but firm. It was... nice. Clint listed to the side a little, exhaustion catching up with him, and Bucky rolled them over onto their sides. His fingers touched the edge of the bondbite, and Clint could feel the blood sticky on his skin. He could feel Bucky's satisfaction at the bite, and his own, and it felt a little smug, although he didn't know who that was coming from.

_It's you._

"Oh, good. I do feel very smug about what a catch my alpha is," Clint answers drowsily.

"Hmm," Bucky says thoughtfully. "I am, aren't I?"

"I'll inflate your ego more when I'm not exhausted," he mumbles. "Go to sleep."

 

 


	2. BONUS/EPILOGUE

_Have you got a bug up your ass or something? You've been wriggling around since we got here._

There's a long, worrying pause where his soulmate freezes up at Clint's voice in his head, and the nerves from the other side of the bond surge up wildly before settling again as Bucky takes a long breath and holds it for a second. Clint's fiddling with his stupid tie apprehensively, it's too tight and places like this make him awkward to begin with. He has no clue why they'd thought this was a good idea- fancy places weren't for them, they should've just gone to a greasy diner and loaded up on fries and soda instead. Although Bucky looks ridiculously good in a suit, so it makes up for it. His hair's pulled back in a messy bun, and he looks more frazzled than Clint does on a bad day.

"Okay," Bucky says with a note of finality, getting up from his seat in the posh restaurant and pulling something out of his pocket. Clint feels his eyes widen as the alpha gets down on one knee in front of him, and a couple sitting behind them gasps.

"Okay, so, I know we're already technically together in the eyes of God or whatever the fuck's out there, I don't know, but I figure we're both pretty big on making choices of our own, so I wanted to ask anyway," Bucky rushes.

Clint doesn't say anything, just stares at him. He thinks he might be going into shock.

Bucky lets out a sigh, visibly collects himself. _I'm not saying we have to elope to Paris or anything like that, I just- I'm a traditionalist, y'know? And I like the idea of being able to show you off like this._ Even the echo of his voice in Clint's mind sounds nervous.

"Will you marry me?"

Clint laughs.

Bucky looks faintly affronted when he bursts into hysterical giggles, but he stays where he is, perfectly balanced on one knee as the people around them start to murmur discontentedly and Clint begins to feel lightheaded from lack of oxygen. Anyone else might be concerned with their bondmate laughing at a marriage proposal, but Bucky knows Clint loves him to the moon and back, so he just waits patiently until Clint runs out of air. The waiter looks vaguely concerned from where he's hovering a few meters away, but no one actually interrupts them.

Then they're both laughing at each other, because Clint pulls the intricately designed vibranium ring he'd nagged Tony into crafting for him weeks ago out of his jacket pocket and waves it somewhat violently at Bucky.

"You stole my fucking thunder," Clint gasps out. "You _asshole_."

" _I'm_ the asshole? You haven't even said yes, yet, you jerk."

"Yes, yes a million times, fuck yes, you idiot."

Bucky somehow manages to get the ring on his finger despite the way he's still shaking and laughing, and it's beautiful, just a shiny steel band with a thread of black through it, and Clint loves it. He nearly drops Bucky's ring on the floor when he tries to get it on the metal hand, but he gets it on his finger and Bucky's leaning in to kiss him amongst the clapping from the other people in the restaurant. His fingers brush the bondmark, just barely, and Clint shivers. He hadn't gone into heat again since the first time, and he probably wouldn't, but he was willing to take that challenge as it came. Maybe the gods had smiled on him just this once, let him have something that wasn't ripped away from him or broken.

"I got the video," Tony's voice floats over to them, crowing and smug. "I'm playing this every time they're gross."

"Leave them be," Steve says amusedly. "I think it's cute."

"How many blowjobs would it cost for me to get you in a puffy wedding dress with lace and flowers?" Clint asks curiously, their foreheads pressed together. He gets a grimace for his efforts. "Hey, you're the one that wants to marry me, you can't change your mind now."

"Are you sure? Divorce rates have gone up since the thirties," Bucky answers dryly.

"No, you love me," he says firmly.

_I do. But I'm starting to regret it._

_No you're not,_ Clint thinks back smugly, because he can feel the bond singing between them and there's not even the slightest shred of regret from either of them.


End file.
